


Luinheneben

by lancelot2point0, RangeroftheSouth



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancelot2point0/pseuds/lancelot2point0, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RangeroftheSouth/pseuds/RangeroftheSouth
Summary: A collection of one shots set in Middle Earth during the era that Lord of the Rings takes place, with slight canon divergence regarding the history and relationships between characters, focusing primarily on Frodo.The general nature of these one-shots can be described as angst, angst, and more angst, with varying degrees of comfort ranging from none to a little.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Frodo Baggins, Frodo Baggins & Merry Brandybuck & Sam Gamgee & Pippin Took, Frodo Baggins & Sam Gamgee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. 1. Bilbo's spoon induced breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the result of a collaboration between my very good friend and I.  
> Unfortunately we do not own Lord of the Rings in any capacity, we are simply making use of the amazing characters and settings of J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson.  
> We are not making a profit from this work in any way, it has been made simply for fun and posted in the hopes that other people will enjoy reading it. 
> 
> That being said, we hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it!

Bloody Lobelia taking his bloody spoons. Really, who does she think she is? Just couldn't wait to declare me dead and get her sticky little fingers all over Bag End.

Bilbo kicked the green door shut - at least they had not tried repainting anything yet- and leaned back against it looking down at the box of recovered spoons he held. His feet ached and his head was pounding. He had not felt like this since the first month of travelling with the Dwarves. Shifting the box to one hand he pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes in an attempt to relieve the dull throb that persisted behind them. He blinked a few times, squinting his eyes as they readjusted to the light and something in the corner of the box caught his attention.

Caught in the corner was a round object. Further inspection, aided by dislodging it through vigorously shaking the box, revealed it to be a bead. It was silver with markings etched into it - Dwarvish runes by the looks of it. Frowning, he picked it up.

Of all the little trinkets given to him by the Dwarves, and the extra ones they had cunningly stowed in his bags, there had been nothing like this. It must have been here from before he left and therefore from the night, he first met the Company. The golden strand of hair that clung to it meant that it was Fili's.

A small smile found its way to Bilbo's face as he recalled the Dwarves dancing around the kitchen, throwing his good crockery and cutlery every which way as he stood trying not to scream every time something sailed overhead. The song they had sung did nothing to help calm his nerves either. Blunt the knives and bend the forks indeed! Everything had been meticulously cleaned and safely stowed. There was neither a chip nor crack, not even the smallest of scratches had befallen his possessions that night.

Now however, his spoons were looking somewhat scuffed and he scowled. One would imagine that after years of scheming and coveting, when one finally got their grubby digits on such items that better care would be taken of them.

Bilbo let out a hiccough of a laugh and dropped his head against the door - hard. He winced, although it was more at the sound that resulted from the back of his head connecting with the door than the actual pain that was caused. It was absurd, totally absurd to be worrying about the state of spoons. It was selfish even, unforgivably so, to be scowling at Lobelia's shoddy housekeeping when he had at least returned to be upset about it and they never would. Thorin would never come back, and neither would Fili and Kili, but at least he had the bloody spoons back, scuffed though they were.

A form of strangled yell forced its way from his throat and Bilbo's arm moved of its own accord to fling the box across the room. At the last second, he jerked his hand back and the box lurched awkwardly to the floor as the spoons' flight was cut short and they dropped to the floor. One by one and in groups they hit the floor, tinkling lightly, and clanging loud as trolls banging pots together. The box hit the floor with a crash as the light reflected in a dozen directions from the spoons and Bilbo sank to the floor faster than he could realise what was happening.

He felt as if he were falling off the mountain side again, rocks being hurled and thunder crashing, and there was no Thorin to pull him back to safety. He would keep falling as he scrabbled at the sheer cliff face to find purchase, because Thorin was not there to save him, could never be there to save him, not anymore. Even as his right hand spasmed open and clenched shut of its own accord, Bilbo curled his left hand into a fist until all he could feel was the hard curve of the bead and his own nails digging into his palm. The spoons lay quietly scattered before the hobbit, reflecting the warm afternoon sun as he slumped onto his side.

He shivered even as the curls of his hair were turned caramel in the gentle light that crept across the wooden floor. He was asleep when the walls turned red with the smoulder of the setting sun, curled in on himself, much the same way he did after witnessing the dragon's fire for the first time. Occasionally Bilbo would let out a small cry or shudder, but these moments soon passed even without the aid of a warm hand steady on his shoulder or running softly through his hair.

When Tilion finally began his nightly journey, the silver light of the moon found itself reflected in the silent tears running down the hobbit's cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry about this. I wrote it in one sitting and then sent it to my dear co-conspirator to have a bit of a cry over.  
> I had a lot of fun writing it, so take what you will about me as a person from that.  
> All in all I hope you enjoyed reading it!  
> You can find my lovely and talented friend on Fanfiction.net as RangeroftheSouth


	2. The Bravery of Boromir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Frodo and Boromir for your consideration.   
> Boromir deserves more love than he gets, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my dear RangeroftheSouth's chapter.   
> We will each be writing a chapter a week, so that means 2 chapters per update, which will be each Wednesday (Eru willing) until we have completed our angst list.

Boromir crumpled like an empty sack. Landing on his buttocks with a weary sigh and craving the softness of a bed under him. It had been a long night and an even longer morning. Both Aragorn and Gandalf had insisted on setting out from just after sunrise until the first pink light had stretched across the sky. By then he had Pippin in one arm and Frodo clinging onto his back, both drooling onto his surcoat. The sunlight had barely kissed the dry grass when the first arrow sailed passed his nose and embedded itself into a nearby tree.

Legolas had already shot the orc down before the Fellowship was attacked from all sides, drawn into a tight circle against at least thirty orcs. He had lost Pippin and Frodo in the chaos and had found the latter pinned to the ground by the foot of a massive, vile orc, its sword held high, ready to bring it sailing down into Frodo’s chest. Boromir had never run so fast in his life. He cut the orc down with two swift blows to the back and another to its neck, sending it falling to one side whilst he hoisted Frodo up and thrust his dagger in the hobbit’s hands seeing that he had lost his sword.

After that the skirmish ended quickly, most of the orcs lay dead with yellow fletched arrows sticking out of their bodies- the rest had been cut down by the company’s blades .

The sun had long since ridden its way to the sky and glistened upon the waters of the lazy river beside their small camp. The hobbits lay curled up together under a tree, snoring, along with the dwarf, loud enough to wake the dead. Gandalf too lay in the shade of a willow, his hat dipped over his, no doubt open, eyes. The unnatural practice still frightened the life out of Boromir’s heart each morning when he walked past the sleeping wizard. Aragorn, Legolas, and he had disposed of the orc’s bodies and the ranger-no- the heir of Isildur had disappeared into the tall grass to hunt for their supper.

He was alone.

Boromir inhaled deeply, basking in the warmth of the day, and let the calm laughter of the river wash over him. Bird song echoed through the small valley, followed by a sweet answering tune that floated suspiciously from where Legolas was perched, keeping watch. It was almost too tranquil to be real.

Finally, he opened his eyes and studied the lush, emerald riverbank around them. Birds fluttered onto the wiry reeds on either side of the river, flowers of rose pink and amber dotted the banks and a lone hobbit sat by himself under a willow tree, not far from where Boromir relaxed. Further examination revealed said hobbit to be Frodo, knees pressed to his chest and his head resting on his arms.

Perhaps he should leave him alone. Boromir knew that Frodo often excluded himself from the group, sometimes to escape and sometimes to think. Yet Boromir knew that this was different. He rose with a groan and made his way over to the hobbit.

“Mind if I join you?”

Frodo said nothing, he simply nodded and turned back to face the river. The captain stole a concerned glance at the hobbit, he had never seen him so downcast in all their travels and though they were not friends yet, Boromir did empathize with Frodo’s impossible situation. Frodo was no seasoned traveler, nor was he a great warrior or one with mounds of physical strength. Yet he had chosen to carry the burden of the Ring on his own, across Middle Earth, at a time when every foul creature wanted him dead.

“Thank you.” The hobbit’s voice caught him off guard and he repeated himself, undoubtedly because of the confusion on Boromir’s face. “Thank you for saving me during the skirmish with the orcs, I had not the strength to move under his enormous weight. If you did not come I-“

“There is no need to thank me Frodo.” Boromir gently placed a hand of comfort on his narrow shoulder, “I am here to protect you and aid you. I know that you would have done the same for me.”

Frodo smiled, truly grateful in the knowledge that Boromir would hold true to his words, but it did not reach his eyes.

“What bothers you Frodo?”

The hobbit was silent for some time, his eyes never leaving the river as the cogs creaked in his mind. Boromir did not rush him. He was a patient man and would remain at Frodo’s side until he was ready to speak. When he did his voice was so soft that even Legolas would have struggled to hear him.

“Those orcs attacked us because of me.” He sighed despondently, “I never meant to go further than Rivendell. The plan was to get there and go home. Not this. Not taking the eight of you with me into such peril. What was I thinking when I volunteered to take the ring to Mordor?”

He sniffed and Boromir scooted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and gathering his thoughts. “You were thinking of that which we were all too blind to see Frodo. You, in your heart knew it then and you know it now, that you’re the only one of us who has the strength to bear this burden. The mighty strength of men, elves, dwarves and even wizards has not the willpower for such a task.”

Frodo stole a glance at Boromir who was about as serious as Bilbo was when he spoke of a similar conversation he had once had with Thorin Oakenshield. “But I am not strong enough Boromir. Look at me, I could barely hold my own this morning and that was only against one orc. How will I carry this all the way into Mordor? What happens if I…If we fail?”

Boromir removed his arm from Frodo’s back and shifted so that he fully faced the Hobbit. Something that Frodo couldn’t decipher flitted across his face and the hobbit wondered if he had said something to offend the captain. Then seeming to come to a decision, Boromir pushed back his sleeve, unbuckled his arm-brace and untied a thick, intricately woven band from his wrist. “None of us meant to go further than Rivendell and yet here we are. You have a stout heart Frodo Baggins and every single one of us would gladly follow you into the fiery pits of Mount Doom.”

Boromir held Frodo’s gaze which reminded him of a new soldier facing the prospect of looming battle for the first time. He placed the bracelet in Frodo’s palm and the Hobbit’s eyes widened at the almost Elven pattern that the leather had been woven into. The Captain smiled, recognizing the astonishment on Frodo’s face, for when he had first laid his eyes upon the band, he thought that it belonged to a noble elf warrior.

“This band was woven in the style of the Elves from over the sea. It is a symbol of courage and bravery amongst warriors. It is said that brotherhoods were formed between the warriors of old and it served as a reminder of their combined strength. When you despair look upon it and remember that we will not fail Frodo. That there is always hope. Come fire and war, the Fellowship, your friends will stand with you until death itself comes upon us. Strength is not only measured by physical means.”

The Captain pointed to his heart, “Strength comes from here,” then pointed to his head, “and here” and then gestured to the snoring mismatched group of travellers, “and from all of us. Together. And that is how we will succeed; together. You may have to carry the Ring as your own burden Frodo, but we will uphold your arms for you, little one. Your friends will not abandon you. You are not alone.”

Frodo gulped, his throat constricted, and his mouth refused to form any words whilst he absorbed all that Boromir had said. He grasped the bracelet as Boromir placed his hand over it and Frodo let his tears run free. He had expected no friendship from the Gondorian, in fact they hardly knew each other. But now he sat there astounded that he got to call this fiercely loyal man his friend. He could see that Boromir would not abandon them to death and despair, no matter how often he contradicted Strider and Gandalf’s wants. No, this man was brave and true and kind.

Perhaps they would succeed together and if they did not then they would surely die together as friends, defeating evil once and for all.

“Thank you, Boromir. I will not easily forget what you have told me this day. And I promise you that one day you will see the White City again and that they will hear of your bravery and your kindness.”

* * *

The Fellowship filed out of the Gondorian crypt and into the warm sunlight. Their hearts were heavy with grief for they had come together-Eowyn and Faramir included- one last time to bid farewell to Boromir.

Faramir remained behind, a hand resting upon the meticulously carved likeness of his brother. Grey against the pearl white wall, the light broken in paisley patterns upon Boromir’s stone face, almost a crown bestowed upon the noble warrior’s brow.

White-knuckled, Frodo’s grip around the worn leather band tightened. He should have lost this months ago on the grim road to Mordor. It should have been stuck somewhere in Shelob’s lair or melted in the fiery pits of Mount Doom.

But here it rested in his palm and not Boromir’s.

‘ _Give me the Ring Frodo! Give it to me_!’ Boromir’s desperate voice rang like the citadel bells and Frodo clutched his shirt above the itching spot of where it had rested. He squeezed his eyes closed and wished that he hadn’t. Eyes blue with malice flashed in his mind, a heart held captive by the tendrils of evil and desperation. Starving, hostile desperation that followed Boromir as he chased him up that hill.

But that was not the Boromir he had come to call a friend. No. The kind man with such valour that would put lions to shame was not the begging, furious shadow that he had been that day.

As Frodo watched the young Steward sniff and hastily wipe at his eyes, the hobbit knew that he would have to rectify Sam’s desperate words thrown at Faramir in the cave. Boromir’s memory should not be tainted with the evil of the ring. He closed his eyes and gathered what courage he still had within him.

He had never forgotten Boromir’s words, nor the earnestness in his voice. Even as the Fellowship disbanded and the fires of Mount Doom breathed upon his skin he remembered. Together was how they had defeated the darkness. Was how he and Sam had struggled up Mount Doom and how Boromir had let himself die to let Frodo get away to the eastern shore. Boromir had protected them all. He had given his loyalty and shared his unconditional kindness and friendship with them all. Frodo would not let history remember him as the member of the Fellowship with a weak heart, with no willpower to resist the destructive power of the ring.

No, Boromir was strong and wanted nothing more than to protect his people and his family. Frodo would have them all remember him as a valiant man and a loyal friend. He exhaled through his nose and strode over to Faramir.

The man’s face was streaked with tears, the skin around his eyes taut and dark, showing signs of sleepless nights and grief. Frodo touched Boromir’s casket and nodded, Faramir knew who his brother was, but he needed to know what he had done. All the good, before all the bad.

“He was a good man.” Frodo meant it.

“Yes, he was, dear hobbit.”

Finally, Frodo held out his hand and in it lay a weather-beaten, thin and faded band. He heard Faramir inhale sharply and take the band from him, studying it as if it were a gem from Erebor itself.

“Where did you get this Frodo?” Asked Faramir, though he already knew the answer and his eyes never left the band. He had seen this last the day that Boromir had left to Rivendell. It had been his farewell present.

Frodo closed Faramir’s fingers around the band and began the tale of the bravery of Faramir’s brother and his friend. Boromir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter.  
> If so, please go give some love to  them over on Fanfiction.net


	3. I've only had Frodo for a day and a half...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frodo meets Legolas while spending quality time with Arwen.  
> Yes, the title is the meme you think it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An author is never late, they post exactly when they mean to.
> 
> There's quite a bit of Sindarin in this chapter, all the translations are in the endnotes.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy.

The sun was shining bright and warm, and the birds were singing softly. Bruinen's song filled the moments of silence and remained a steady presence. To this symphony Frodo lazily dropped off to sleep. 

Arwen smiled down at the little hobbit curled up on her lap and gently brushed a hand through his hair. She was glad of his coming to Imladris again for she had dearly missed him. 

Sometime later Arwen became aware of another presence in the little garden. Setting down her book Arwen looked up with a smile. 

“ _Suilad Legolas, ci mael_?”   
  


The blonde haired elf grinned, “ _Suilad Arwen, Ni mael, gin?_ ” 

  
“ _Ni meal eithro, mellon nin_.” 

  
“ _A man cidennen_?” 

  
“ _Tîn eneth Frodo_.”

  
At the sound of his name the little hobbit opened his eyes. Blinking he looked up at Arwen and smiled, then catching sight of the newcomer he sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

  
Realising he had the child's attention, Legolas bowed slightly, one hand over his heart _, “Mae govannen. I eneth nin Legolas._ ”

  
“ _Mae govannen Legolas. Im Frodo_.” He smiled shyly at the elf.

  
“ _Frodo sí go-na tîn nanethanar. Anwa, Frodo_?” 

  
“ _Aye, nin a nanethanar Bilbo sí tírad Arwen_!” 

  
“Mas dorthog, Frodo?” A small smile had found its way to the elven prince’s face. 

  
Seeing the hobbit's confused expression Arwen intervened, “He asked where you come from _pinen_.” 

  
“Oh,” Frodo's face lit up, this was something he knew well. “I am Frodo Baggins, of Bag End in Hobbiton, the Shire.”

  
“Baggins?”

  
“ _Anwa_ ,” Frodo nodded enthusiastically, “My uncle is Bilbo Baggins, he is Lord Elrond's _mellon_.” 

  
“Ah, I believe I may have heard of your uncle before.”

  
“You have? Did you meet him on his adventure?” Frodo patted the bench next to him. “What was it like?”

  
Taking that as a sign to sit, Legolas did so. “I did not meet your uncle on his adventure, but my father did. He seemed rather impressed with your uncle if I recall correctly.” 

  
“Was your da helping Uncle Bilbo and the dwarves?” Frodo's eyes were dancing with excitement.

  
“Um” Legolas paused, unsure of what to say in response to that. 

  
“Maybe you should ask Bilbo about that, after all he met Legolas’ _ada_ , not Legolas.” 

Legolas shot his friend a grateful look. 

  
“Oh okay.. I will ask Uncle later.” Frodo paused for a moment then wriggled off Arwen's lap and stood facing Legolas. 

"Your hair is like my friend Sam. But yours is much longer and it's straight. How do you make it stay like that?" 

  
Legolas smiled, “My hair is just like that, Frodo. I don't really do anything to it to make it stay like that,” he was starting to like this strange child. 

  
“Oh,” Frodo frowned, “can I plait it? Arwen's been teaching me how.”

  
Bemused Legolas glanced at Arwen who was holding back a smile. 

  
“I have been teaching him,” she shrugged, “and I do think he's gotten rather good at it.”

  
“Very well,” having not the heart to deny one of his oldest and best friends he relented, “you may.”

  
“ _Hannon le_ , Legolas!” 

  
“I think you're going to have to move so Frodo can actually reach your hair properly Leg,” Arwen did not even attempt to hide her enjoyment of the situation. 

  
“ _Sui ei aníra_ ,”Legolas rolled his eyes as he slid to the floor and settled comfortably. 

  
He felt Frodo pick up some of his hair and start to twist it.

They continued like this for a short while, Arwen and Legolas exchanging news and gossip and Frodo frowning in concentration at the task he had appointed himself. Every so often Arwen would lend a helping hand to smooth out a braid or hold a section of the prince's hair. 

  
"Arwen?" Frodo tugged her sleeve gently. 

" _Ná, pinen_?"  
  


"I'm finished."   
  


Arwen looked down at Frodo's handiwork, "It looks good _pinen_! You've learnt so well!"   
  


Frodo blushed, " _Hannon_ Arwen." 

  
Turning slightly so he could see the hobbit, Legolas smiled, " _Hannon le_ , Frodo Baggins." 

  
"Do you like it, Legolas?" 

  
"Very much, it holds my hair very well," Legolas looked on in awe as Frodo's eyes widened even more with happiness. 

  
"Perhaps you should braid Arwen's hair." Legolas grinned at his friend, "I think she would like that very much." 

  
"May I?" 

  
"Of course _luinheneben_ ," Arwen delighted in the brilliant smile that lit up Frodo's little face. 

  
Without waiting a second longer Frodo scrambled up behind Arwen and settled himself with his back against the mostly vine covered statue that stood behind the bench. 

Legolas picked himself up off the ground and dusted his tunic off. 

  
"Legolas, can you hold this, _saes_?" 

  
"Of course," he sat down next to Arwen and took the section of hair Frodo was holding out. 

  
Happy to have a helper, Frodo resumed his braiding. 

Sensing the hobbit was sufficiently occupied for the time being, Arwen remembered the question she had been wanting to ask Legolas. 

  
" _Mellon nîn_ , have you met Estel yet? My father mentioned that the two of you might have crossed paths already." 

  
"Estel?" Legolas' brow furrowed in confusion. 

  
"He might go by another name, but he is of the Dúnedain." 

  
"Of the Dúnedain," Legolas nodded, "the Ranger do you mean?" 

  
"The Ranger, yes." 

  
"I have met him, but he does not go by Estel." Legolas studied his friend for a moment. "Why do you ask, Arwen?" 

  
Meeting his gaze, Arwen replied, "My Father raised him, and I know he adores Dan and Ro. Though I have had little to do with him, I would know how he is, for I know how much he means to _ada_." 

  
"I did not know Lord Elrond raised him, for he speaks little of himself and never of his family." 

  
"I am unsurprised by that, Estel never wants favours based on what people know of him, or so I've gathered from _Ada's_ rants." Arwen smiled, "He worries for him, Legolas, and to know he is safe would ease my father's mind somewhat." 

  
"I understand, _mellon nîn_ ," Legolas nodded gravely, "I will tell you what I know." 

  
Adjusting himself on the bench Legolas began, "He goes by Strider, or Thorongil mostly. I have met him several times in the past few years…"

  
They continued thus until Arwen was satisfied that no serious harm had befallen her father's foster son. 

  
Now assured, Arwen returned her full attention to her little charge. "How is it, _pinen_?" 

Frodo, who had finished braiding her hair a little before the end of Legolas' tale, was happy to have his favourite elf's attention returned to him. 

  
"I think it looks good 'wen. What do you think, Legolas?" 

  
Finding himself on the receiving end of the little hobbit' s expectant look, Legolas was taken aback both by the intensity of it and his sudden willingness to defend this small one with his life. 

  
"You've done very well, Frodo," He smiled, "it looks beautiful." 

  
"Hannon le!" Frodo beamed. 

  
"You know," Legolas made a thoughtful expression, "you could put flowers in Arwen's hair, tuck them into the braid." 

  
"I can do that?" The look of awe on his little face only served to cement Legolas' newfound devotion to this little being. 

  
"Of course you can _luinheneb_ ," Arwen smiled as she lifted him off the back of the bench, "shall we go find some?" 

  
"Yes!" He wriggled excitedly and she set him down on the bench. "We should find blue ones!" 

  
"I do believe I saw some on the way over here," Legolas stood up and stretched. 

  
Frodo took his outstretched arms as an invitation to be picked up and promptly launched himself into the unsuspecting elf's arms. 

  
"Oof! Hello there," Legolas clutched at the small bundle of hobbit he found loosely clinging to the front of his tunic. 

  
" _Suilad_ , Legolas!" Frodo chirped, "Where did you see the flowers?" 

  
"A small garden, a little ways off the path I think." 

  
"Let's go!?" turning, so that Legolas nearly dropped him, he looked expectantly at Arwen. 

  
" _Ná, mellon pin nîn_ " She stood, picking her book up, "let us go." 

Legolas moved Frodo to sit on his shoulders and they started off down the path.  
Soon a little clearing, hidden amongst the trees came into view. 

The ground was carpeted in flowers that rippled in the breeze like gentle waves in a blue lake. Butterflies floated, unhurried, from flower to flower and the hum of bees could be heard from the far side of the clearing. 

Legolas deposited a rather excited Frodo on a stone that sat in the shade just before the clearing. Frodo immediately jumped off and waded into the field. The elves could just see his dark curls bouncing among the flowers as they followed at a more leisurely pace. 

  
"Here 'Wen!" Frodo had returned to them bearing as many flowers as he could possibly carry. 

  
" _Hannon le_ , Frodo," she picked him up, taking care not to crush his treasure, "what shall we do with them?" 

  
"I don't know. Legolas said we can put them in your hair?" He didn't sound utterly convinced about the plan as he looked between the two.

  
"I shall teach you how to make flower crowns then," Arwen gently pressed her forehead to his, "what do you think about that?"

  
"Yes, I like that," Frodo paused for a moment, his face scrunched up as he thought, "and I can teach Sam how to make them too! He likes flowers."  
  
"Yes, _pinen_ , you can teach Sam," now safely back in the shade of the trees Arwen set Frodo down, " I think I should like to meet this Sam of yours someday." 

  
"Sam wants to meet you too! I think," Frodo looked up at her, "He says he really wants to meet the elves!" 

  
"Well then, one day I shall meet your Sam. Come and sit now, and I'll show you how to make the crowns."

* * *

"Arwen," Lord Elrond strode down the halls of the Last Homely House East of the Sea looking for his daughter. His daughter and the hobbit child. 

  
"Arwen -" turning a corner he almost collided with someone. 

  
" _Adar_? " it was Arwen, with the hobbit child - Frodo - asleep in her arms. They both had a wreath of flowers on their heads. 

  
"Mr. Baggins is searching for the young one, I believe he is near the libraries."

  
" _Hannon le, Ada_. I will take Frodo there." 

  
"My Lord!" Erestor appeared next to him seemingly from nowhere. 

  
" Erestor," Arwen frowned a little at him. 

  
Noticing Frodo, Erestor held up his hands in a silent apology. 

"Elrond, we have an urgent matter in the healing room to be taken care of, right away if possible." 

  
"I will attend," Turing back to Arwen he said, "if he's not around the libraries then great halls might be where he's gone." 

  
" _Ná, hannon_ ," Arwen made to leave, and then turned back, " I have good news for you Ada, I shall tell you later. Also," she smiled, "Legolas is here, if you have not met him already."

  
"It is not Legolas in the healing room, Erestor?" Elrond's voice held a note of stress. 

  
"No, the Prince has not seen it fit to grace the halls of the healing room with his presence this time." 

  
Having left her father and Erestor, Arwen made her way to the libraries. 

As she stepped through the door she heard a voice. 

  
"You were one of the guards in Thranduil's Palace, were you not?" 

  
"I have not been placed on Palace guard duty in many a year, master…?" 

  
Arwen would have been able tell from the tone of his voice that Legolas knew perfectly well who he was speaking to, even if she did not know it already. 

  
"Baggins. That may be so, but I definitely recall you seeing you. You were with an elf with red hair fairly often." 

  
"Well my father does run the Place," Legolas was enjoying himself immensely. 

  
"You mean the elf who sleeps as the dead when he's had enough wine? I should imagine he's out of a job now." 

  
"And why would that be Master Baggins?"

  
"It's technically his fault that the dwarves escaped." 

  
Arwen, deciding that it was high time she intervened, made herself known to the pair. 

  
"Legolas, Mr. Baggins," she nodded to them each in turn. 

  
"Ah! Miss Arwen, I see you have my nephew. I do hope he was not too much trouble." 

  
"None at all, Frodo was a delight as always," gently shifting him, she asked, "shall I leave him in your room, Mr. Baggins?" 

  
"But 'm' wake," Frodo looked sleepily around, "Hello Uncle Bilbo. _Suilad_ Legolas!" 

Looking more awake, Frodo started giving his uncle a play by play account of the day. Bilbo, although he did try, could not understand a single word Frodo had said after Legolas. 

He had almost told the Prince of Mirkwood, the Sole Heir to the throne, how he had managed to smuggle thirteen dwarves out of their elaborately designed jail cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> Suilad - hello  
> ci mael - how are you  
> Ni mael, gin - I am well and you  
> Ni meal eithro, mellon nin - I am well too my friend  
> A man cidennen - Who is the small one?  
> Tîn eneth Frodo - His name is Frodo  
> Mae govannen. I eneth nin Legolas - Well met, my name is Legolas  
> Frodo sí go-na tîn nanethanar. Anwa, Frodo - Frodo is here with his uncle. Right Frodo?  
> Aye, nin a nanethanar Bilbo sí tírad Arwen!- Me and uncle Bilbo came to (see) visit Arwen  
> Pinen - little one  
> Hannon le - thank you  
> Sui ei aníra - as you wish  
> Ná, pinen - yes, little one  
> Luinheneben/luinheneb - blue eyed one/blue eyes  
> saes- please  
> Ada/Adar - dad/father  
> mellon nîn - my friend  
> Ná, mellon pin nîn - yes, my little friend
> 
> If anyone is better at this and has seen anything that needs correcting in terms of translation or meaning, please do let me know.
> 
> Anyways! Thank you to my dear Ranger for editing this for me! 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this and it nearly slipped into crack territory at times.   
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the Council of Elrond.  
> Merry and Pip start a food fight.

“You conniving, thieving little halflings!”  
  


Tarion-the head chef of Lord Elrond’s household- dragged Merry and Pippin down the aisles of the Great Hall by their ears, turning many of the foreign visitor’s heads in their direction as he did so.

“If ever I have met such a sneaky pair of young boys! Stole my scones and ruined my soup! I have half the mind to hang you by your toes in the deepest, darkest dungeon in Imladris!”

“Ooww!” Squealed Pippin as the dark-haired cook twisted his ear again, “Y’know, we didn’t mean to ruin your soup! We only meant to take the scones is all.”  
  


That was one half of the truth, the other was that Merry and Pippin had snuck into the Imladris kitchens to, as Merry so delightfully put it, taste-test the freshly baked scones and cakes that were to be had after supper that evening. 

“I don’t think you’re helping our situation Pip.” Said Merry from the other side of Tarion, the elf’s short robes slapped him in the face as he practically ran down the aisle leading to the main table at the head of the hall. 

Tarion snorted, annoyance flashing across his usually grumpy face, “Oh he’s right young hobbit. Dignitaries from across Middle Earth and this! This is what you to do- “ 

Merry and Pippin both felt a pang of remorse at the distress in Tarion’s voice. Though the sheer number of Elves who dwelt within Lord Elrond’s home was shocking, it was not as if there was not enough to go round if the heaps of food lining the bustling tables were anything to judge by. However, now counting the visiting men, elves, dwarves and hobbits-who counted as eight people each- it was a wonder that Tarion still had any stocks left.

From the main table Frodo flashed Sam a wry smile and pointed his glass towards the ruckus making its way towards them. “That does not look good.”

“It does not look good at all Mister Frodo.” Said Sam over the rumble of laughter that broke out amongst those seated at the lunch table. He groaned and turned to Frodo on his left, “For once can they not get themselves into trouble? And here, in front of all these Elven-folk and foreigners!”

Frodo grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling and Sam couldn’t help but let his scowl fade away. It was wonderful to see his friend smile after so many days of being in pain as he recovered from the stab wound from the Ringwraith. Assured of Frodo’s recovery, Sam, itching to explore every nook and cranny that he could get himself into and see all that he could, was finally beginning to enjoy the Elven city. He intended to make the absolute most of the time they had left before the Company would have to leave for Mordor.

“Wonder what they’ve done this time ‘round?” 

Frodo and Sam didn’t have to wait long for their answer when Tarion hastily bowed and dropped the hobbits before Lord Elrond. 

The elven lord resisted the urge to sigh and greeted the cook, whilst glaring at the pair of blushing hobbits. “What brings you from the kitchens, Tarion?”

The cook’s mouth fluttered open and closed as he nearly sputtered in front of his master, clearly not believing that Lord Elrond had the nerve to ask such a question. “Caught them sneaking into my kitchens, making off with an entire plate of scones and knocking over my pot of soup whilst they’re at it! Not to mention that I’ve found the culprits behind the missing custard tarts too!”

“In all fairness you did leave those to cool by the window. Anyone could’ve nicked them.” Said Pippin, ducking to avoid the wooden spoon that Tarion swung at his head. He already had a small bump from where the cook had rapped it upon his skull when they had first been caught.

The cook brandished his wooden spoon once again this time at Merry, but Lord Elrond intervened before Tarion could split their heads open. He rose from his high-backed chair and glared icily at the now terrorized hobbits. Merry would look back on this moment and still feel the spine-cracking shiver that engulfed him under the stern gaze of the elven lord.

“Thank you Tarion, for bringing this unacceptable tomfoolery to my attention. But I think that I will deal with them from here.” He squeezed Tarion’s shoulder reassuringly, knowing that his old friend was under immense stress due to the mass of visitors to Imladris and that he would need rest soon. He slipped into the elven tongue that neither Merry nor Pippin could understand, “Worry not mellon-nin, I will see that they are adequately punished.” 

To everyone’s surprise Tarion smiled, though it looked more like a wild grin from where Pippin stood. He flourished his wooden spoon at the pair of identical elves who sat beside Arwen, barely containing their laughter. The Woodland Prince and daughter of Lord Elrond joined in too and Tarion scowled at them, lines wrinkling his forehead and around his stone-like eyes. Just behind Legolas hid Estel, who over recent years had been the reason that Tarion bolted the kitchen doors from the inside at night. Not that that stopped him of course.

“You five elflings can laugh all you want now but let us not forget the pumpkin pie incident! If any of you dare sneak into my kitchens again, I will personally see to it that you’re fed to the wolves.” With that Tarion spun on his heels and stormed his way out of the Great Hall, muttering about the frustration of elflings until he reached the kitchens. 

The hobbits hung their heads in shame, “We are sorry for what we did, and we do ask for your forgiveness, Lord Elrond.” 

Merry apologized, not trusting Pippin to do it because he knew that some form of sarcasm would thread its way through, one way or another. Expecting a further scolding, the hobbits studied their feet. 

Once Tarion was well out of earshot Lord Elrond turned back to the hobbits, his brow shot up in surprise as a laugh bubbled within him, “You have done a brave deed my friends, foolish and perhaps reckless, but brave, nonetheless. None would be so bold as to venture unprotected into Tarion’s kitchens.” 

The kind smile upon his face faded and Merry and Pippin suddenly knew what a deer felt like before it was shot. “As much as I applaud your bravery, I do not approve of theft, from grumpy old cooks or otherwise. Your mistake is forgiven, but I must warn you there are only few who have escaped with such a lenient sentence.” 

The elf-lord placed a finger each under their chins and gently lifted them up, as he had done many times before with his own children. Merry and Pippin saw nothing but kindness in his grey eyes, “Now come, join us, I’m sure you must be starving.”

* * *

After a stern reprimanding from Sam and a hearty laugh and not so stern scolding from Bilbo; Merry and Pippin tucked into a mouth-watering breakfast of fruit, breads, and bacon. Frodo had been entirely too amused by their predicament and couldn’t stop laughing at them, which they happily let him do, for he was alive and well and that was all that they could ask for. 

Breakfast had gone on mostly undisturbed; Pippin had spent most of it staring at the elves who sat around the hobbits, at Bilbo who conversed fluently along with Gandalf and Legolas in Elvish and at the Lady Arwen who sat like the depiction of a princess from one of his childhood books. He and Frodo had found themselves in deep conversation with the silver haired Gloin who sat beside Bilbo. Gloin was one of the thirteen dwarves that Bilbo had travelled with on his adventure and the young hobbits could have spent days listening to the tales that he told them of his travels. 

“Not even Glorfindel himself would dare to lay a finger on Tarion’s creations.” An ebony haired elf dropped into the chair beside Pippin. 

“Not that it’s ever stopped him from trying. Though it takes a considerable amount of courage to even enter those kitchens with the hopes of not being killed with that spoon.” A second, identical elf plonked himself beside Merry and the two hobbits nearly fainted. 

“Believe us, we know.” Said the one beside Pippin. 

“Elladan,” the one next to Merry bowed, his hand on his heart, whilst his brother did the same next to Pippin, “and Elrohir.” 

Merry and Pippin were stunned and sat gaping at the fair twins for a long moment before introducing themselves. Merry held out his hand to Elladan, “I’m Meriadoc Brandybuck and this here,” he jabbed a thumb towards his cousin, “is Peregrin Took.”

“Though most people call us Merry and Pippin.” Said Pippin. 

“Well then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintances Merry and Pippin.” 

At the head of the table Lord Elrond sighed wearily, his head dropping into his hands at the sight of his famously mischievous sons befriending the equally mischievous hobbits. Since childhood, his sons and daughter had been at the center of all pranks and chaos within Imladris, from accidentally spilling paint down the sides of the buildings or nicking freshly baked pies from the kitchens. It had escalated once they had met Legolas and naturally, their shenanigans had gone from bad to worse when Estel had come into the picture. 

Gandalf caught him scowling down the table and somberly patted his shoulder, “If you frown any harder you may develop wrinkles, mellon.” 

“I feel as if I’ve aged a decade, Mithrandir. Do you think-“ 

Whatever Elrond wanted to know was lost to the clamoring of silverware as Pippin climbed onto the table, with Elrond’s sons encouraging him from where they sat. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and Elrond heard rather than felt the glass in his hand crack as history -as it so often did- repeated itself, “Oh valar no.” 

The young hobbit sucked in a deep breath, “There is an inn, a merry old inn-“ 

Gloin, Bilbo and Gandalf’s heads shot up, faces pale as the moon, their old hearts racing and a mixture of sorrow and nostalgia sunk its way into their bones. For many years ago, during the Quest for Erebor, Bofur had leapt onto the plinth where the Ring had lain just days before, and had sung the very same jig to the beat of fourteen pairs of feet stamping the ground. 

Not long after Pippin began to sing, Merry joined him. Both of them were grinning madly and thumping their feet on the tabletop.

  
  


“And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill!” As Pippin sang he thumped his foot on the table in time with the beat.

The ostler has a tipsy cat

that plays a five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he saws his bow

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

now sawing in the middle.”

It was as Merry and Pippin skipped in a circle, arm in arm, food flying in all directions, landing in cups of tea and bowls of fruit that Bilbo was taken back to the unexpected party that the Company had thrown in his home nearly seven decades ago. Back to the moment when Fili and Kili had stumbled over his dining room table, spilling ale onto his ham and cheese, and then proceeding to instigate the messiest, but not last, food-fight that BagEnd had ever seen. Not a day went by that the hobbit did not miss them. That he did not miss their witty remarks or wandering melodies on their fiddles. 

“While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

‘It’s after three!’ he said!” 

The entire Hall echoed with laughter and applause, for all had been listening and watching the hobbits. The table was a mess that had Elrond turning grey as he sat and wondered how this had occurred. Perhaps now he could return to his brooding, though there was a small part of him that did feel sorrow, but also joy. He was glad of it, for he needed joy, as much as could be spared for the war ahead. 

It was as he flashed a small smile at Gloin that the first piece of apple hit Pippin on the forehead. “Oi! Who did that?” his eyes narrowed as he scanned them all, then saw Elrohir turn away too quickly and instantly had a handful of grapes in his hands, which he tossed with unexpected precision in the direction of the elf’s head.

The entire table erupted into chaos. Food flew across the room, from Elladan to Aragorn and then from Aragorn to Frodo. Merry and Pippin laughed maniacally as they flung pieces of oranges and pelted grapes upon the twins, who in turn used the biscuits and scones as projectiles to hurl at the scampering hobbits. Sam-never one to partake in such terror- ducked under the table and did not emerge again until it was safe. Gandalf and Lord Elrond sat, unamused and annoyed -only to keep up appearences, for they both felt that they could use some cheering up. Aragorn aimed a muffin at Arwen, hoping that she wouldn’t catch it, or see that it was him. He was however, fatally mistaken, for the calm, kind Arwen pelted him with a handful of cheese, butter and jam. Bilbo took advantage of the fray and threw a buttered roll at Legolas’s hair. Though the elf would never know he threw it, Bilbo couldn’t help but tell himself that Fili and Kili would be proud. Throughout the chaos he and Gloin could not take their eyes off the two hobbits on the table-top, for as Merry and Pippin had their fun all they saw was the blonde and brown-haired dwarf brothers. Young, laughing, and unbothered, as they once were all those years ago.

* * *

Later that day as the sun dipped behind the mountains of Imladris and the sky painted itself in colours of pink and orange, Bilbo, Gloin and Gandalf found themselves reminiscing on times long passed. The three friends leaned against the railing of the balcony that they had supped upon decades ago. Below them in the wide garden Merry, Pippin, Legolas and all Lord Elrond’s children played football as the shadows lengthened. Unsurprisingly the young hobbits and the twins had become fast friends. The hobbits, as Elrond joined the old men on the balcony, were attempting to tackle his sons to the ground, and he couldn’t help but laugh, it was like watching a bear cub trying to capsize a tree. 

“It’ll be seventy-seven years since we lost them this year.” Said Gloin, his voice barely above a whisper. His knuckles whitened around the railing and Gimli placed a hand over his father’s. 

Bilbo said nothing, he squeezed his eyes closed and swallowed against the hard lump in his throat, but it was no use. His tears still ran down his wrinkled face, Gandalf still hugged him. But Fili and Kili were still gone. In the greyness behind his eyes he could still see them, their young faces beaming with joy, Fili’s startling eyes laughing at him and Kili’s mischievous smile when he joked. 

“They would have been so grown by now. Fili and Aven would have been married…” Bilbo’s voice trailed off into silence. 

“Dis would have been a grandmother.” Gloin snorted as he laughed, “Thorin would have been grumpy, old and left to care for the dwarflings.” 

At this they couldn’t withhold their laughter at the image of a frowning, terribly moody Thorin running after his grandnieces and nephews as they drove him mad. Gandalf smiled to himself as Merry managed to score a goal and pounded his chest against Pippin. 

“They remind me of them, so undeniably naughty and yet caring and kind, untouched by the evils of this world.” The old wizard mused with sadness floating in his eyes and his chest painfully compressing. 

“Who, Merry and Pippin?” Laughed Bilbo, “Goodness me, they do!”

“Goodluck to you both, Mithrandir and Gimli, for you’ll be travelling with them soon.” Lord Elrond laid a hand upon Gloin’s shoulder and the dwarf did not recoil, he knew that Elrond understood his pain. “Your nephews are not truly gone Master Gloin. They remain with you-in your heart.”

Lord Elrond’s arm touched Gimli’s and for all the dwarf’s prejudices he did not move either, for Fili and Kili had been his idols as a child. He had been too young to travel with them at the time of the Quest, and he had wanted nothing more than to be at their side then. But now he wanted nothing more than to have them at his side to encourage him as they once did, to have his back and give him hope as he travelled into the depths of the darkness itself. 

“Though night may come and my friends may travel onto paths that I cannot see, I hear them in the sunrise, as the light glistens over the sea I wait, for there they will be, one day waiting for me.” Bilbo’s soft voice echoed like the greatest of battle horns as they silently observed the merry game below. 

Bilbo tugged on Gandalf’s robe and the wizard raised both brows at him, “You will… You will keep them safe won’t you? I know that they are not my sons by blood, but they may as well be. Frodo has a taste for adventure, but he misses the Shire. I see it in his eyes,” Bilbo sighed, turning back to the soccer match, “he must do this I know, but I fear that he will not return. At least not the same lad as he once was.” 

In a stronger voice he continued, “Sam will look after him even if he himself is dying, this I know with an assured heart. But someone needs to look after Sam. He cares about them all too much and forgets to look after himself. Merry is responsible enough, though he is inexperienced in the things of the world , they all are, Pippin most of all. Pippin is just a boy Gandalf, a boy journeying on a quest that even the strongest of men do not willingly go.” 

Bilbo gazed fiercely into Gandalf’s eyes and with what strength he could muster poised a question that would haunt the wizard from the time they passed through the Elven gate and flew into Mordor on the eagles. “Promise me you will bring them back?”

The earnest gleam in the old hobbit’s eyes pierced Gandalf’s heart. He could promise no such thing. He had promised Thorin that his nephews would live, but they did not. He had let one friend down in the past, and he would not do it again. Not willingly. He knew that he shouldn’t for there was every chance that they would all die at the end of their journey. And yet, Gandalf got to his knees, looked his old friend in the eyes with such fierce determination that Bilbo was taken by surprise.

Gandalf held his shoulders, “I promise that with everything within my power that your boys will return home Bilbo. Even if I must walk through the very fires of Mordor and drag them out by the ears.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Hope you're all doing good!
> 
> Thank you Lancelot for editing this chapter! You helped soo much! Again, I'm sorry 'bout the angst...
> 
> this chapter was so fun to write, except for the angst at the end... I ended up crying a little there...
> 
> About the song, Frodo does sing it in FOTR and it's featured in the extended edition of An Unexpected Journey. I absolutely loved the extended scene when Bofur sings and then the foodfight breaks out... It's a parallel of that day and I thought it fitted in really well...
> 
> Translations: Mellon-Friend, Mellon-nin- My friend
> 
> We'd love to hear what you all think!
> 
> Until Next time!


	5. For Loss or Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (from Sindarin)  
>  _Saes _\- Please  
>  _Man _\- What  
>  _Henia _\- Understand  
>  _Im _\- I________

"Arwen," the man's voice was steady, sure as it had been that morning as he swore to follow and guard the Ring-bearer with his life. 

A fresh wave of anger and pain welled up inside her and she turned away. 

"Arwen," a note of pleading, contrition maybe, " _ Saes _ ." 

She ground out the words as if they pained her to say, " _ Saes man _ **,** _ Estel?"  _

"Arwen,  _ saes henia, im _ -" 

" _ Henia man _ **,** _ Estel? _ That you are leaving, planning to infiltrate the very heart of Mordor? That you are undertaking what one can describe as a suicide mission?" she had taken her finger out of the proverbial dyke. 

"Am I meant to understand that you, Aragorn, are taking on a task that you not only know has the potential to see you dead, but that you expect it? 

Am I to understand and simply accept that those I dearly love are walking to their deaths?" 

Arwen turned and for a moment Aragorn could have sworn that it was not her who stood before him, but her grandmother, tall and proud and unyielding, deadly as she was beautiful, filled with rage and despair. 

"Estel," her voice was gentler now, "is this why you have refused to tie my fate to yours? Because you expect to die? Or," she continued, a harder tone now, "is it because you refused to tie my fate to yours that you now embark on this quest? Why is it that you are allowed to choose to die, and yet I remain, for the ages to come bearing the memory of those I left behind?" 

At this her voice trembled and Aragorn, who until this moment had been pinned where he stood by the intensity of her gaze, closed the space between them. 

Kneeling before her, he took both her hands in his and kissed them. 

"Arwen Undómiel, it is not for a loss of will to live that I choose to go, but rather is it the will to preserve life that guides me. There is much at stake, the fate of Middle Earth may well depend on this quest that we undertake now. I would do my part in preserving the freedom of this land, too long has the evil of Sauron tainted and destroyed much that was fair. I would right the wrongs that my forefather did in keeping the ring." 

"Estel," she drew him up, "I do not doubt that your heart is true and I do not seek to wound you with my questioning. You are a good man and I do not doubt that." Arwen drew an unsteady breath, "I cannot bear to see so many dear to me walk towards such evil, expecting not to return. Even foresight does not truly prepare one for such things."

"You foresaw this?" The man was surprised, it was a rare thing for such sight to be gifted to beings, even the elves, and even then it was limited, a skill to be honed over the vast decades and centuries of their lives and Arwen was still young by elven reckoning. 

"Part of it," she choked a little. "Since Glorfindel brought him across Bruinen, I have known that Frodo would be the one to bear the Ring to the fires and return. You and Legolas are an unhappy surprise." She gave a sad little laugh, "I thought that worrying about Frodo was bad, having three of you is worse." 

Taking in Arwen's meaning, Aragorn pressed her hands to reassure her. 

"Arwen, I meant what I said. I will protect him with my life if needs be. I know your love for him and I would see Frodo safe ere the end of this quest. As I swore to him, I swear unto you : with my life I will protect Frodo and aid him in whatever capacity I can to see him safely through and back again. I will bring Legolas back as well, though given his record with your father's healing rooms I cannot guarantee he will be completely unharmed." 

Lifting one hand to his face, Arwen rested her palm against his cheek, "And who will look after you, Estel?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed that little bit of angst.  
> A special _hannon le _to my dear Ranger who I sent this to at midnight to read.  
>  To the reader who requested Aragorn angst I do hope that you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it!  
> If you guys have any requests or ideas, we’d love to hear from y’all!  
> Until next time, _novaer _.____


	6. Gwilwileth Malthen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwilwileth malthen- literally rusty orange butterfly ( Since I couldn’t find a direct translation for ‘orange’, i used malthen, but if anyone knows the correct word please let me know!  
> Tithen pen-little one

He had slain more orcs than any on Aman had seen, killed a Balrog, survived the endless chaos and near-death experience that was all four of Elrond’s children, and had come away unscathed from Erestor’s withering stares. But never before had the Balrog-slayer felt more fear than he did strolling between the riverbank and the tiniest of hobbit children, who skipped and bobbed through the tall grass beside him. 

They, and by they, he meant the most irresponsible elves in all of Aman, had left him to look after Frodo. A task for which Glorfindel had some experience in. He had taken care of the twins and Arwen from their infancy to their adulthood, he had for almost two decades ensured that Estel didn’t die. So, he thought to himself as the little child chased after a butterfly, how difficult could this be? 

Glorfindel sighed and drank in the scene before him. The river rushed madly to one side, the sun grinned down upon the lush riverbank and the trees sang with the wind. There were days like this when he fancied pretending that the world was not such a foul place, that it did not crawl with the spawn of evil. He jumped as a squealing laugh burst forth from Frodo as the butterfly rested on the hobbit’s nose and lazily batted its wings. Then Frodo sneezed and the poor creature flew off in fright.

Frodo ran towards him, beaming from ear to ear as his unruly dark curls tangled with the wind, “Did you see that Glorfindel? The butterfly was right here! On my nose!” He pointed back to the empty space where the bright, tangerine creature had been fluttering just moments before. “It was so beautiful! Uhm, what do you call them? Will we see more when we get to the meadow?”

“Indeed, it was _tithen pen_.” The elf’s heart swelled at the sight of the adorable child as he grabbed Glorfindel’s large, calloused hand in his own. Frodo’s fingers barely wrapped around his palm and Glorfindel’s smiled down at the child as he searched his mind for the correct name. Frodo glanced expectantly at him and the elf frowned deeply. He was unsure of the proper name for the butterfly and instead settled for hoping that Frodo- who at the age of seven was shockingly bright- did not pick up on his uncertainty. “We call them _gwilwileth malthen_.” 

The little Hobbit paused for some time, his brows furrowing as he absorbed the words. “Gwilweth malthen.” Said Frodo, smiling, clearly proud of himself.

Glorfindel beamed, impressed with the young Hobbit’s almost unflawed pronunciation, “Excellent my young friend! You almost had it. Butterfly is pronounced: _gwil-wil-eth_.”

Frodo did not hesitate, “ _Gwil-wil-eth_.” He said slowly, passing under the shadows of the trees and into the vast meadow of flowers. 

“Yes, much better. You’ll be putting Erestor to shame with your excellent language skills.”

But Glorfindel’s words fell on deaf ears. Frodo let go of his hand and stared with wide eyed and mouth drooping lowly at the orange, purple and yellow flowers that swayed in the breeze. The river sang quietly as it rushed by, the distant hush of the waterfalls reached their ears, and a gust of wind blew through the trees. Peace. Unbridled peace sank into Glorfindel’s bones until little Frodo shrieked with joy, the shrill sound piercing Glorfindel’s sensitive ears and the Elf grimaced. 

“Come on Glorfindel let’s go!” and then Glorfindel felt himself being pulled forward by the tiny mass of laughter before him, “I promised Uncle Bilbo that I’d make him a flower crown!” 

The elf stumbled after him and they plunged into the meadow. Frodo bounded away in the direction of a narrow, but deep and fast-moving tributary that connected to Bruinen. Glorfindel’s heart stopped, “Frodo Baggins! Come back here at once _tithen pen_!” he called sternly, but not unkindly.

Frodo came bolting back and stood shame-faced and pale before the towering elf. Glorfindel knelt in front of the hobbit so that those round, blue eyes met him. “Right Frodo, I know that you’re excited to collect your flowers, but,” he huffed softly and laid a large hand on the child’s shoulder, “I need you to be careful, okay? You must stay within the meadow and where I can see you. There is a very deep and dangerous river nearby. It’s awfully easy to get swept away in it and your uncle would not approve of you or me getting ourselves swept away downstream, now would he?”

“No, he will not…” Said Frodo and wriggled out of Glorfindel’s grasp, bouncing impatiently on his heels, “Can I go now?”

“Of course, off with you now.” He shooed the child away with a laugh and settled himself against the trunk of a willow tree near the river, far enough away from Frodo to let him run free, but close enough that he could be within reach of the Hobbit within seconds.

Whilst Frodo wildly ran through the meadow, plucking daisies, tiny blooms of white _athelas_ , mountain bells and lavender, Glorfindel reclined happily in the sunlight, basking like a cat as he sipped from his canteen. He sighed at the cool, albeit leathery aftertaste and barely suppressed a laugh as Frodo tripped over something and sent the basket of flowers sailing through the air. 

“I’m fine!” He yelled just as Glorfindel got to his feet. 

“You sure?”

“Yup! Now I have to collect them all over again!” The golden-haired elf shook his head at the animated gestures that Frodo made as he spoke. The Elf groaned as he fell back against the tree, one leg bent up against its bark as he sighed and leaned into it. Frodo sang as he retrieved his fallen bounty and set off to find even more flowers at the edge of the meadow. Glorfindel wondered if he should follow the child, but his keen elven eyes allowed him to clearly follow Frodo’s now distant bobbing head. 

The sweetest of birdsong reached his ears and Glorfindel allowed himself a brief moment of peace. He squeezed his eyes closed and inhaled deeply, feeling the cool summer air reach the bottom of his lungs and sit until he slowly exhaled. All the tension seeped out of his bones and his heart, instead, replaced by the hefty laugh of the river and the swirling wind. And the silence. 

The silence?

It was too quiet, the birdsong died away and unease settled into his bones. Something was wrong and he knew it for the alarm bells of his intuition screamed. Glorfindel’s eyes flew open and he whipped around, his hair fanning on the wind as he faced the spot where he had last seen Frodo. The hobbit was gone. 

“Frodo?” Glorfindel pushed himself off the tree and sprinted to the opposite end of the meadow. He glanced from left to right and then behind him, turning rapidly as he searched for the child. He moved away from the clearing, through the trees and to the densely packed forest. “Frodo! Frodo, where are you?”

He squinted through the meandering woods and caught sight of a small head of unruly curls following the path towards the tributary. Glorfindel’s heart thudded madly as he bounded off after the hobbit, the tributary had steep, sandy banks that led directly into the lethal current below. He had once fallen in trying to save an elf and had nearly drowned in the waters. And he knew that hobbits could not swim. Frodo would never stand a chance.

“Frodo! No!” He yelled and felt himself go cold as a shrill shriek echoed from the direction of the river. He didn’t need to think twice as he flew off, darting through the thick undergrowth, clawing vines ripping at his skin and branches threatening to tangle themselves in his hair. He reached for his long blade that permanently remained at his side, he was nearly there. “Frodo!” 

He burst through the treeline, chest heaving as he panted, but found nothing save for the rabbit that darted through the bushes. Glorfindel stood at the edge of the steep bank and hastily searched the water, his eyes burning with fear. The dark water churned furiously below, foaming beside the sharp rocks and rapids. He frantically ran upstream, never taking his eyes off the deepening river, “Come on _tithen pen_. Please don’t be in the water.” 

He plunged forward, running deeper into the forest until his vision blurred and Glorfindel forced himself to suck in a shaky breath, “He’s not in the river. Which means that he’s not dead.” He told himself, trying not to focus on the bone-crushing guilt and fear that gnawed at him, nor the tiny voice that told him that he had failed the hobbit. 

The elf turned in a slow circle, taking in the narrow footbridge to his left and the tangle of forest to his right. “Frodo!” He called once more into the silence and leaned on his knees, his mind raged, and his thoughts blurred like a summer mirage. He shook himself free of the fear and plunged into the forest, hoping beyond hope that the child would be somewhere close by. 

“Frodo! Where are you!” Screamed Glorfindel at the top of his lungs, scaring the birds away from the trees and running in a zig-zagging motion through the forest. 

“Glorfindel!” He froze, one-foot hovering just above the grass, ears pricked up like a deer. The voice was on the edge of his hearing, perhaps halfway downstream, and it was small and unmistakably Frodo’s. “Glorfindel! Where are you?” 

The tiny voice called out again, Glorfindel plunged back in the direction he had come, “Frodo! Stay where you are! I’ll come find you!”

“Glorfindel!” 

Frodo called again, this time clearer and full of panic. The elf quickened his pace and shot off like an arrow from the bow as the land became familiar once more and Frodo’s shouts grew closer. Soon the thick forest widened and he could barely make out the edge of the meadow that they had been in. Glorfindel knew that he had run in one large circle and that if he did not find the hobbit now that he’d have no choice but to return to the city and call a search party. 

“Frodo!” In a blind panic Glorfindel stumbled into the meadow that he and Frodo had first entered and nearly cried in relief. “Oh, thank the heavens!” 

The balrog- slayer laughed, freely and loudly as relief flooded over him. For there in the middle of the flowery meadow stood little Frodo, surrounded by a cloud of deep blue and purple butterflies; his basket of flowers forgotten and both hands grabbing at the bobbing creatures. 

“Glorfindel! There you are!” Frodo momentarily paused from his butterfly catching and grinned at the red-faced elf. “Come on!” 

The Elf bounded over to the Hobbit and plucked him off the ground and into the fiercest hug that he had ever given. He clutched Frodo to his chest as if he would lose him again if he did not. “I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life Frodo Baggins!” 

The child threw his scrawny arms around Glorfindel’s neck, receiving a face-full of hair. He laughed as Glorfindel held him away from his chest and Frodo frowned at the sight of the Elf’s watery eyes. Then it was the hobbit’s turn to tear up and time for Glorfindel’s heart to break. 

Frodo gazed at him, blue eyes brimmed with tears, “Where have you been all this time? I ran off after that rabbit and when I came back you weren’t here! I thought you had left me here!”

He reached up and wiped away the tears on Frodo’s cheeks and in the softest, kindest voice he used with Elrond’s children he cooed, “Oh, no _tithen pen_! I would do no such thing! I thought that you had gotten lost in the woods, or worst still, fell into the river.” He didn’t mean to sound so stern, but he couldn’t help it, “Next time you decide to go tromping off after rabbits please tell me. I nearly died when I couldn’t find you!”

Glorfindel set the child on the ground and brushed away a few stray curls that fell into Frodo’s eyes whilst Frodo guilty studied his hairy toes, he knew that look on Glorfindel’s face all too well. It was that strange mixture of soul-crushing fear and relief that his uncle bore on his face whenever Frodo wandered off too far in the marketplace or during their long walks in the forest back in the Shire. Glorfindel caught the sadness and guilt in the child’s eyes.

He dropped to the ground, rested a hand on Frodo’s shoulder and with the other gently raised his chin until Frodo was eye level with him. “I am not upset with you Frodo. You just gave me quite the fright, though I am sure I did too and for that I apologise. You are brave for waiting here all by yourself. All that aside, I am more than happy that we’re both here, hmm?”

The elf smiled kindly and Frodo’s face spilt in a grin, humming in agreement as he threw himself onto Glorfindel. He yelped as the small mass of child toppled him over and the pair lay laughing on the grass. Frodo rolled onto his side, a leg and arm flinging themselves onto Glorfindel whilst they stared at the stunning blue sky above. Frodo’s stomach growled, reminding the elf of a wolf. The hobbit laughed at the sound emanating from his stomach. “Glorfindel?”

The elf hummed in answer. 

“I’m starving.”

Glorfindel, who was always hungry, leapt to his feet, plucked up the overflowing basket of flowers and showered Frodo in grass as he dusted himself off. “What say you and I go have lunch and find a spot to make the crown for your uncle, huh?”

The hobbit soon joined him, grabbing his hand, and practically dragging him back into the city, “Oh yes! Do you think there’ll be cake afterwards? Can we make one for ‘restor too? Please?”

He barked a laugh; this child was a force to be reckoned with. Glorfindel couldn’t wait to see the look on Erestor’s face when he received the crown. “Of course, _tithen pen_! I suggest you use those bright yellow peonies; those are Erestor’s favourites.”

Frodo gasped with glee and ran a little ahead of Glorfindel, giddily telling him of how Legolas and Arwen had taught him how to make flower crowns and then of which flowers were his favourite. 

It was as Frodo bounced through the grass that Glorfindel found himself smiling, his heart light and merry. He truly had thought that he had lost Frodo today, that the child had been drowning in the river or stuck in the thin boughs. There Frodo was turning in small circles, his eyes upturned towards the trees and the birds overhead. What a joy it was to have children running through Imladris again. The ancient elf inhaled deeply, he had forgotten what it was like to be so young and untouched by the darkness of the world. 

Perhaps it was for the best that this firecracker of joy had found his way into Bilbo’s life, into all their lives. His kind heart and untainted soul reminded them all, in this city full of ancient elves, warriors who had seen so much death and heartache that there was hope, so much hope for joy and love and life. For this smiling child who chased after butterflies and slew dragons with his invisible sword was truly a reason to go on. Glorfindel laughed to himself as Frodo rambled on about how Erestor was undeniably going to love the flower crown that he would make him. He truly could not wait to see Erestor’s grim face when the child handed him the most brightly coloured crown ever made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews on the previous chapters! We hoped you enjoyed reading them as much as we enjoyed writing them!  
> Hannon-le, Lancelot for editing this chapter ( I’m sorry about the tears…) and for putting up with all the unexpected angst.)


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